Self Image
by Saucy as a Unicorn
Summary: Are you who you think you are? The 164th Hunger Games are starting and the tributes are more than what you would expect. They must go on a journey to figure out the question that is all reaping their minds and must try not to get killed along the way.
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter 1_  
 _'Beginning a Day'_

* * *

I feel like I could get into some deep discussion about something deep like identity or self-worth. I could start this entire thing of by making myself sound more intelligent than I really am. Or I could get into an emotional side, describing how I am so relatable to everyone. But I won't, because I'm not. I know I'm not all too intelligent nor am I very relatable. Hell, I'm probably the most un-relatable person you'll ever know and we are only six sentences into my introduction. How about that? So instead of trying to do something I'm not, I guess I'll just stick to who I am; a person getting tired of all this rain.

It has been raining constantly here in my section of the district. It seems rather poetic at first, especially if someone was to relate the district's personality with the rain. But really, it is just one big depression blob of grey. It has been one rain storm after another, causing issues with people going to work, school, and out in general. Not that I don't mind missing school, it can get repetitive sitting in class talking about mining day in and day out. But it is also getting repetitive watching the grey clouds clustering over my home, drenching everything. I have tried entertaining myself in other ways when I get too tired looking out the window. And don't get me wrong, listening to the "ping-ping-ping" of raining dripping through cracks into the ceiling and into pots and pans is really fun. So is watch slugs and worms trying to escape the great flooding of their hideaways by trying to come into the house. But I always wind up back on my worn down chair in front of the scratched up window in the front of my home watching the raindrops slide down the stupid glass to the sill. Even today I wind up doing it.

No one is home but me right now. Why? I don't particularly. I never try to pry into my family's business. It just makes it all the easier living with them. My dad is probably working down in the mines. While many people try to get days like this off, my dad pushes forward and works down in the mines until the light in his lantern goes out at dusk. Whether my brother is with him is the real question. My brother, Frent, should be working as well, but he has never been the one to do as he is told. I truly am surprised he hasn't been killed yet by the Peacekeepers, but then again, he is smart enough to get out of trouble. My mom's whereabouts is also a tossup. I would probably bet she is with one of her "male friends". I repeat, I try not to pry into my family's business, but I know a couple of things about them. Like how my wonderful, beautiful, and lady-like mom likes to keep certain lonely and _rich_ men company. My dad never talks about it and neither does my mom, so I try to ignore it. Frent has brought it up once, back when we were both young, but he got into trouble about it.

After receiving punishment from dad, it sounding like a whooping from the other side of the door, he had never brought it up again.

So here I am, sitting by myself, alone. School has been canceled as the building has flooded, twice. No point in trying to clear it, in my opinion. It is only going to continue flooding. Maybe they'll cancel the reaping too… I can hope, but really I would be holding my breath if I truly thought that.

My life is that like any other life here in District Twelve; poor. I live in a one bedroom shack with my family, like many others. Only a few live in actually homes or apartments, still they are all pretty shabby just the same. The store owners tend to live in apartments above or behind their shops and the officials, like the mayor and Head Peacekeeper, tend to live in beat-up homes in the center of the district. The rest of us live in rotting shacks close to the mines. Most of us mine, so it would only make sense. We are groomed to head into the mines when we turn eighteen. Living near mines, learning about mines, seeing the mines on a daily basis; we are miners pretty much by the time we turn five. I never really liked the mines, but will probably end up going down there if I don't end up marrying by the time I turn eighteen and start a family.

Looking out the window, I can see a few people braving the stinging rain to head out to the market. They do this every year around this time. Everyone is trying to build up their reaping meal. Not the meal before the reaping, but the one for after it, to celebrate their family being safe from the Games one more year.

The reapings come to the each one of the twelve districts every year. One boy and one girl, from all the children ranging from the youngest of twelve to the oldest of eighteen, from each district have their name drawn during their district's reaping. The ones who have been reaped, or tributes which is the preferred term for them, are then shuttled off to the Capital to be trained for the Hunger Games, a barbaric "game" where all but one tribute dies. There is killing, starving, savage animals known as mutts, and everything in-between during these "games". The reaping always comes with the promise that the Games are following close behind, thus much despair.

"I should probably get some stuff," I mutter to myself.

The first time I talked all day. My voice echoes off the bare wooden plank walls. It sounds strange, foreign almost. I defiantly do not like the sound of it. It sounds scratchy… Empty. I sound like a dried up child, even though I am closing in on seventeen in a couple of months. My voice doesn't match the image I have in my head of me and I just plain don't like it.

I get up from my seat and head over towards the door. There are all the shoes we have; beaten and broken. I wish we could afford new shoes, but I prefer having food on the table more. We don't have many shoes, but they are enough to get us through. A set of boots and a set of plain shoes each for us. My dad and Frent's boots are meant for work, while my mom's and my boots are meant for when we have to help out sometimes during district festivals or other activities. Our other shoes are meant for daily lives. My dad's boots are gone, as expected, and my mom's regular shoes are gone. Frent's boots remained, meaning he defiantly skipped out on work again today. I slip on my boots. Normally I go for my shoes, but I don't know how badly the marketplace is with the rain. I am not about to get sick before the reaping. That would only be bad luck for me; too risky.

I shoot another look back at my home before I slip out the door. No need to lock up. No one ever robs here. My teacher says that District Twelve is one of the better districts because of that. The districts with a lot of cities have constant break-ins and robberies and many other crimes that here just doesn't have. I don't know how much that is true and how much is just fear the Capital is trying to instill using my teacher as a mouthpiece, but I know for one thing, I wouldn't want to live in a world where I couldn't trust my neighbor.

Even with the reaping coming up, we still trust each other. We tend to keep to ourselves during this time, out of fear and sadness. We don't like to think of our family and friends being sent to die in the Games, so we try to distance ourselves from that thought and in turn distance ourselves from them. But it doesn't matter how much I distance myself from them, I still maintain trust in them to know they won't try to rob or harm me.

The rain pounds down on my head. I have a thin windbreaker on with the hood up, so that helps slightly. But the rain is still going into my face and the heaviness of the water falling is pushing against the hood onto my skull. Mixed with the wind, it is almost unbearable.

 _Just keep going forward_ , I think as I push further and further towards the marketplace.

Somehow I manage to get to the marketplace after what feels like an hour in the rain, but was really only a half hour. The scent of the bakery is the first thing to hit me. The Mellark Bakery… It had been in the Mellark family for ages. I heard they have had the children in their family in the Games a total of three time with the first being the 74th Hunger Games. The times I had been in the bakery I have heard Mrs. Mellark tell the story of Peeta Mellark, one of their family's biggest members. He had been reaped during the 74th Games with a girl who was the first volunteer in District Twelve history. They apparently had been lovers, though he died during the Games, leaving her as the victor. Mrs. Mellark always tells the love story, preferring his death over the other two in the family. I don't understand how someone can like talking about a family member's death, but she sure seems to like it. But then again, she has nothing to worry about at the moment. They have a total of three children, two boys and a girl, all under twelve. They won't have to worry about the Games for years to come. So it doesn't matter what Mrs. Mellark says about the Games right now as she doesn't have to worry about her children.

The smell of fresh bread wafts into my nostrils. I have always liked the smell of their bread, much better than any other bakery. There are a few other bakeries in the district that I know of, but they are further away and are never as good as the Mellark's. Usually I can never afford anything more than a couple of dinner rolls, but Mr. Mellark sometimes throws in a slightly stale sticky bun for me to snack on once in a blue moon.

I walk into the building, glad for a break from the perpetual rainfall. The inside is like any other building in the district, leaking. There are pots everywhere, filling with raining leaking in through creaks in the ceiling. Not as bad as my place, but still nothing to brag about. The Mellark kids are rushing about, switching out pots that are full and running outside to pour them out and switch them again. This doesn't really faze anyone in the store, as they are all too preoccupied with the bread, as am I. The fresh bread lines the shelves as the few costumers scan them. We are all in here for one thing; our reaping meal. I only have so much money to spend, but the reaping meal is something to splurge on. I normally only spend enough on a dinner roll per person, but something like this calls for multiples. I walk over to the dinner roll tray and take eight, enough for two each. Everyone in my family always likes when we have dinner rolls, so I figure it is worth it.

The counter is being manned by Mr. Mellark. I'm glad; I didn't particularly want to listen to Mrs. Mellark talk about Peeta again. I walk up to the counter and show Mr. Mellark the buns before placing them in a bag I had tucked in my pocket.

"That'll be six cents, Dae," he says.

First time someone has said my name today…

"Really, normally it is six cents for four," I say.

"Are you really going to argue with a price like this for eight buns?" he asks with a smirk.

I shake my head and pull out six copper coins. Our currency in Panem, my proud country, is called Panemin. The higher currency, usually seen only by the rich, is bills with pictures of our presidents' faces on it. I have never really seen it, only in pictures. The rest of us trade with coins or other valuables. The lowest of the coins are made of copper, with its pinkish tint. Then come brass in the middle and then finally nickel. Nothing too fancy, just some basic metals. I don't know how trading circles of metals works as payment, but not questioning it is how I get food on my family's table. I had Mr. Mellark the six pink-orange coins.

"You're sixteen, correct?" asks .

I nod.

"I'll be turning seventeen in a couple of months," I respond.

"Almost near the end," he says, reaching under the counter. He pulls out a single stale sticky bun. "For good luck."

I take the bun that is handed to me.

"Thank-you," I simply say, before leaving the store.

I stand underneath the awning as I get my bearings. I place the bag of bread, now joined by a hanky-wrapped sticky bun, beneath my jacket, so there is no risk of the bread getting wet. I know look around. Bread alone does not make a dinner worth celebrating. I need something with more substance, a meat of some sort. There is only one person I trust to get that from…

* * *

 **End of first chapter. What do you think? I know I only mentioned her name once, in passing, but the main character and narrator is Dae Coop. Yes the title of this chapter is a bit of a pun. I was trying a new way of narrating. It is kind of hard to write in this tense, but I feel like I am managing. I hope to get more into it next chapter by introducing another major character. I would have written more, but it had reached over 2,000 words by this point and for a "chapter" that has now pages to separate everything out, that seems like it would get a bit wordy. How about you tell me? What do you think so far? What would you like to see happen? Is the length of this chapter too long or too short? Maybe just right? Tell me in the reviews.**

 **Take note this is NOT an SYOC/SYOT. Any submissions will be deleted and/or ignored. Thank you.**


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_  
 _'Under the Bridge'_

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He is probably under the bridge. He is always under the bridge. If I hadn't ever seen his home, I would assume he lived under that bridge. His name is Kachada. Over the years I have known him, he has never given me any other name than Kachada. It probably has something to do with his family. I haven't ever truly met his parents, but the rumors say his dad is a true winner and his mother isn't any better. I have often wondered about his life when he isn't under his bridge, but I find it better not to ask. He is the closest thing I have to a friend and I don't need to lose that.

Kachada and I first met when we were both ten. I had been roped in to skipping school with Frent. He was used to skipping and had gotten so good that teachers were often unaware of him even being gone. It must have been the confidence from that that had convinced me into joining him. I was emotionally unready for it that much I can say. I was panicky, feeling like I was going to get caught at any second. In the end, it was this that made Frent abandon me. He claimed I was going to get us both caught with my worrying. Now I was a truant in the middle of an area I didn't truly know yet. I had never been to town by myself, so I was pretty much a babe in the woods. It was Kachada who came to my rescue.

Now imagine this young, puny boy, no taller than four feet, come striding up to you. You are commonly used to dark hair and bronzed features, but this boy is the complete opposite. Snowy white hair hanging in front of his colourless face. His eyes are almost a reddish hue and his skin is pasty white. Now if you were in my situation, you would have found this as intimidating as I did. He may have had a smile on his face, but I could not find him as friendly as he looked. I was used to simple stares, a scowl at best. But someone smiling at me was unfounded.

He introduced himself as Kachada. It is a strange name, yes, but for some reason I thought it fit him. His otherworldly appearance needed to be matched with an unheard of name. In the end he helped me calm down by showing me his hang out, underneath the walking bridge. For the rest of the day he told me jokes and kept me occupied. After that day, he and I became the closest thing to friends. I don't know if you can truly have friends in District Twelve, but Kachada and I come pretty close.

Kachada dabbles in trading now. He says it is boring to just sit around all day and the fact he has never gone to school, he said he needed something to do. Trading was the best thing he could think of. He gathers whatever he can from the fields near the fence surrounding the district; strawberries, herbs, healing leafs, anything worth something. He then goes down to the local trading area, also known as the Hob, and goes about his day until he finally comes out on top. I don't know how a boy who has never gone to school can be so smart, but Kachada pushes past any of my judgments I may have formed about him.

I walk up to the bridge. It is a bit of stroll, but still an easy walk. The rain makes it a bit worse, but I still somehow manage in the stinginess of the pouring raining. The bridge is in the much older part of the district, known as the Steam. Back in the days this is where all the miners used to live, but as time went on, the miners found they needed more space. So they began to spread out. As new homes began to be made, old ones were abandoned. The homes being made were not the best, but they were better than the old ones; which says something about the condition of the Seam now. Now only a few of the elderly still live here, refusing to give up their homes. The rest of the homes are mere memories of what they used to be.

"If it isn't little ole' Dae," a voice calls out through the rain.

He is there, like he always is. I can easily recognize that scratchy voice he has. I hurry up my pace, trying quickly to reach shelter underneath the bridge. There is a bit of a puddle forming underneath it, but nothing rain boots cannot handle.

"Who are you calling little?" I ask him. "You're shorter than me."

He smiles. Something about his smile that is just so contagious. I cannot help but smile in return.

"What do you need?" he asks. "Or did you just want to see me?"

I shrug. He is always so friendly. I have just gotten used to it.

"I was hoping you had something for dinner; meat of some sort," I answer.

Kachada pulls a fake pout, like he always does when I don't respond to his playful manner. Still he doesn't ignore me. He pulls out a small steak of what I can assume is venison. It is not common to have meat to eat here in the district. So to see it in someone's possession is extremely surprising.

"Where did you get such a nice cut?" I ask, wide eyed.

He chuckles as he answers, "I have my resources…"

His go-to answer for most things.

"What do you want for it?" I ask, going for my money.

But he just holds up his hand stopping me. He instead hands me the steak. I, though confused, take it.

"Just promise I can come over for dinner one of these days," he says. "I want to meet the family of my friend."

I smile.

"Deal!" I say.

He smiles and takes a seat on some of the only dry land in the district. I sit beside him. With the rain pouring down on either side of us, it is pretty cramped. I wouldn't be able to sit still like this with any guy. I would mostly likely be a nervous little wreck, but Kachada is my friend. I feel like I can trust him with anything.

"So you ready for the reaping?" he asks.

He still has some of his playful nature in his tone, but I can tell he is being as serious as he can be. I shake my head in response.

"I don't think you can ever be ready for it," I respond truthfully. "The chance your name is drawn for that bloodbath… Can you ever prepare for it?"

Kachada puts his hand on my shoulder as his smile fades. I can sense him trying to comfort me, but I cannot seem to calm myself down now. The idea of children, no older than me, maybe even my own age or younger, killing others for the joy of a few twisted souls. It was sick. It was taking everything in my power just to hold down what little stomach contents I have.

"Dae," Kachada whispered my name. "I promise I won't let anything happen to you. You are my only friend and you know how I am at trying to make new friends. I don't want to have to try and talk to people."

He manages to get a little laugh out of me. This is enough for him to smile again. I lean on his shoulder as we continue to talk about menial things like scarfs or snowflakes. It is enough to get my mind completely off the Games. Also enough to make me completely ignore the sun going down.

"Crap!" I shout as I look into the dark surrounding the bridge.

I can still hear the rain pour down, though I cannot see it through the shadows of nightfall.

"I need to get home," I say.

Kachada nods.

"I probably should too," he says. "Ivo is probably angry."

 _Ivo?_ I have never heard of Kachada speaking about anyone named Ivo before. They had to be someone in his family. From the sound of it, and taking into consideration the rumors, Ivo was probably his father. I shuddered at the idea that the rumors might be true.

"Are you going to be okay walking home by yourself?" he asks.

"I can ask you the same thing," I say, followed by a light chuckle. "I'll be fine."

I place the wrapped steak I had been holding in my hands this whole time, strangely enough, in the bag with the bread and replacing the bag underneath my jacket. I looked back at Kachada and waved as I darted out from under the bridge.

"See you later!" I shouted.

I could hear him faintly respond with a single, "Goodbye!"

* * *

 **A little bit short than the second chapter, but I hope it was still long enough. I have been busy for the last few days. I have had a total of like eight hours of sleep for a total of like three days. That is about two and a half hours per night. That is not good when I can normally only function with a minimum of eight hours a night. Anyway, I am back to sleeping normally. I hope to be able to publish chapter three around Monday or Tuesday. I'll see what I can manage. Anyway, I hope you liked the chapter. There meaning behind Kachada's name, but I don't want to reveal it right now.**


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_  
 _'Un/Lucky'_

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When you wake-up in the morning, sometimes it will feel like just another day. This is how I feel today. The rain is still pouring, like it has been for so long. The winds are blowing, causing our house to creek even more so. And even with the rain, everything still has the weird soot-smell. Just like any other day really. I am even juggling the consideration of just sleeping in. There is no point getting up early, it feels like.

"Dae, wake-up!"

Frent shouts straight into my ear, causing me to shoot straight up in alarm. He chuckles as I rub my ear to stop the ringing. This is one of the problems sharing a room with my family. They are always there. No sleeping peacefully. There is the snoring, sleep talking, and not to mention unwarranted wake-up calls that seem to keep anyone awake.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Have you forgotten what today is? Really?" Frent responds, arching his eyebrow as he looks at me.

"Today…"

I had forgotten, strangely enough. You think that _today_ , today of all days, would be one everybody would remember. When we would send children to the Capitol; the first day of many to start off the Hunger Games. Today was the reaping.

"Shoot," I mutter under my breath.

Frent shrugs his shoulders and leaves without saying another word. He liked to do that, leave without any concern, but today I completely understand him for doing so. Everyone separated themselves from the rest. We don't like show the weakness that today brings. The fear in our hearts terrifies us to no extent, and the last thing we want to do is broadcast that to the world. So we split off from everybody else, including our family. Frent does this every year, as does my parents, and as do I.

My parents are already gone. They probably left as soon as they woke up. There is no working today as everybody has to be present for the reaping. My mom can still probably see a few guys however today, so she's probably at some other man's house. My dad however, due to the mines being closed, is probably with hiding somewhere, trying to drown his sorrows. I'm not entirely sure, but this is how many dads deal with the reaping.

"I'm going to go do some stuff," Frent calls from the other side of the door. "You can walk to the reaping yourself, right?"

Frent is being unusually kind today; actually showing concern. I am put off by it at first, but I quickly realize he is trying at least.

"Yes," I simply say back.

I can hear Frent's footsteps leaving, fading, until there are no more. I go to the drawers and find my reaping dress. It is the same dress I have been wearing for some years now. I haven't grown much, if not at all, since I was twelve. This dress is the same one I have worn since then. When I first got it, it was a dark navy blue dress that went down past my knees. It had an egg-shell white – whatever that is, my mom described it as that – sash and matching trim around the neckline. The sleeves were long and were what can be called a "bell-sleeve". Now that colour has pretty much faded. Instead of that strong navy blue, it was a faded-cobalt. The sash and trim had developed a cream tone to them. And the hem had begun to fray. The dress had probably cost a bit back when my mom got it for me. I don't particularly know how she got the money for it nor do I particularly want to know. But over the years it has become worn and used. I'm sixteen now, so it would be pointless to get me a new dress. I only have three more reapings to deal with. Besides, the dress still fits.

I put on the dress and tie the sash. I remember my matching cream stockings. My mom used to do my hair when I was younger, but not anymore. It doesn't matter. I have managed to become skilled, well skilled enough, to do it myself. I begin two braids, one on either side of my head, allowing them to trail down the sides of my head as they finally meet at the bottom of the back of my head. I then twist them together and pin them down to make a bun. It takes some time to do this, but it feels wrong just to have my hair down or in some basic braid for the reaping. It seems too casual for such a morbid setting.

I had woken up at about six o'clock, but by the time I'm ready it is already nine. The reapings started at noon, but all the way in the main square. My neighborhood was a bit of a walk to the main square, as was many other peoples. To be able to walk there, it would take about two hours. With the rain, it would probably take three.

"I need to get going," I say to myself as I grab my slicker off the hook in the main room.

Normally I would wear my nice khaki loafers, but not with this rain. I pull on my boots instead. Throwing up my hood, I open the door and begin my trek.

Over the first few minutes, I am joined by a few other people. Mostly they are kids my age. I recognize most from school. Some are adults, parents, joining their kids for moral support. We group together to help with the walk. The more of us together, the easier it seems to continue on. Even still, we do not talk to each other. I look around every so often and notice that there are many of these small groups walking towards the center of the district. It feels like we are animals being herded.

Hours pass and it is eleven-thirty. We finally made it to the town square. The rain is just as bad here as it was back home. Thankfully the town square has bricks in the main area, to make it seem fancier. It is shown every year on the television for the rest of the world to see, so they opted to make it look nicer. All those being reaped will be standing on the bricks, so I at least don't have to deal with any more mud until I walk back home. The adults and younger children not being reaped will have to deal with it however, as there is not enough space on the brick for everyone in the district.

I split from my group and go to the tents containing the check-in tables. There Peacekeepers would take our blood, just a drop from the finger, to confirm our identity. I have to admit I am jealous they get to sit under tents in this rain. I would love to be able to remain dry.

The prick when you get your blood drawn the first time is very painful. I don't think that pain comes from the actual prick, but from the emotions swelling up inside of you when it happens. You are very emotional during your first reaping and when your blood is drawn, it is like all your fears are becoming reality. You don't know what is truly going on or what to do next. I held my breath my first reaping. All through the wait in line, up until my finger was pricked, I held my breath. When I finally had my blood drawn, I almost fainted. Now the prick feels nothing more than a small sting.

"Take off your hood," the Peacekeeper says to me before drawing blood.

Because they cannot tell who I am without seeing my face; the blood test won't tell them. But I do not argue and do as I am told. The man nods and holds up a little device used to determine who we are.

"Name?" he asks.

"Dae Coop," I answer.

I hold up my hand and he takes my pointer finger. He pressed the tip of the device against the tip of my finger. Small sting followed by a simple, single beep. I cannot see the screen of the device, but I know my identity has been confirmed. The Peacekeeper lets go of my finger and checks something off on a check board.

"Continue," he instructs.

I take my leave of the tent, replacing my hood on top of my head before I step into the heavy rain. There are already a lot of children waiting in the assigned spots on the brick. All of them either have on a hood or some other type of head covering to protect them from the rain.

My spot is with the rest of the sixteen year old girls near the middle of the group. We are split during the reapings. The girls stand on the right of the town square, while the boys on the left. We are then split up due to our age. The younger ones, starting at twelve, stand in the back, while the older ones, eighteen, stand in the front.

As I stand, waiting for the reaping to begin, I take my time to look around. I only visit the town square once a year, during the reapings. I try to avoid it the rest of the year. The emotions associated with it make me sick even thinking about it. The Mellark bakery used to be in the town square before moving a long, long time ago. I'm glad it moved or I would never visit it.

During my first time visiting the town square, it was sunny. The day was incredibly hot. Everyone felt like they were baking. In between sweating and panting, I managed to make out my surroundings back then. The buildings were tall, towering above everyone. I had never seen buildings so tall. When I was younger, my parents and I would be forced to stand one of the alleys and watch the reapings on a screen. But standing in the town square itself was nothing like seeing it on the television screen. It felt like I was in a land of giants, readying myself to be squished.

The buildings are still tall today, but they haven't aged well. They didn't look too clean back then, but now I can see noticeable cracks running up the walls and chunks of concrete gone from the top trim of them. They are starting to grow mold. I don't know it is due the excess of rain or due to their age and lack of maintenance; probably a combination of both. At the front of the town square, there is a stage. It looks the same as my first reaping, but today, due to the rain, there are tents set up on the stage too. Underneath them are some seats for the important figures of the district; the mayor, his family, and the district's escort. If we had victor they would also be sitting up there. But District Twelve hadn't had victor since the 74th Hunger Games, the one the Mellark boy died in. Over the ninety years, we haven't had anyone win the Games. Not once.

Suddenly the music begins to play. The same music plays every year. Panem's national anthem… The Capitol's anthem. The tone is supposed to be uplifting and give the feeling of strength, but I always associate it with this day. It reminds me of death and fear and fragility. The music is the signal for everything to start. Everything goes hush except for the sound of the rain; that remains a constant obscuring noise.

A small man, no taller than five foot, stands up from one of the seats on stage and walks up to a microphone stand and the center front. It too is covered by the large tent of the stage, though some of the rain is managing to come in and wet the floor. The man tries to avoid the small puddle forming, but is forced to stand in it. If you were from the Capitol, you would understand his pain in stepping in that puddle. He was wearing a pair of very expensive-looking, shiny golden chukkas. They matched his equally shiny golden suit. To step in a puddle with them on was a crime. It would throw off the entirety of his look. The Capitol must be weeping for him right now.

The man's name is Auriel Kosmima. He is our district's escort. He comes from the Capitol every year. He is meant to help select the tribute, look good for the week they are in the Capitol preparing for the Games, and in the end help get them sponsors and supporters for when they are in the Games. That being said, I don't like him.

"Hello and welcome to the 164th Hunger Games," he says with a grand cheer.

Why is he always so chipper? I just hate it. I normally don't care if someone is happy, but him. I hate it when this man is happy, especially during the reapings.

"Before we draw the names," Auriel says. "The Capitol would like to say something."

The video. The reaping is the same every year. The music followed by Auriel followed by the video; the video featuring the reason behind the Hunger Games, explaining the history of Panem and the Dark Days. Talking about the Treaty of Peace and how the districts became required to send in tributes. How the Hunger Games were the reason for everyone still being alive today and that we should be so lucky to participate. With the rain today, the video felt extra gloomier than usual.

With the video's end, Auriel continued on with his speech. I have heard this speech so much now that I am starting to space out. I now know what Frent was always talking about on learning how to sleep while standing.

"Shall we begin then?" Auriel asks, responded with only silence. "Ladies first…"

Auriel steps away from the microphone and over to a large bowl that has been wheeled up on stage. It is a great glass globe-like bowl sitting on top of a small table dressed with a blood red table cloth. Inside the transparent bowl you can see hundreds of tiny white papers folded in half. Each one of those papers has a name of a potential tribute on it. My name is in there a total of five times; five of those papers has "Dae Coop" scribbled on it in a tiny black font. While many other children have their names in there more than I do, that is still five more than I would ever want.

Auriel plunges his hand deep in the bowl, into the papers. I close my eyes as I pray for my name not to be called. I can hear the girls next to me doing the same thing. No one wants their name to be called. And while it sounds horrible, I would rather someone else go instead of myself. I squint a bit and look towards one of the many screens that are placed on the decaying buildings. I see Auriel has already picked a piece and is opening it. I continue to squint and pray as the paper unfolds and he begins to sound out the name.

"The female tribute for this year's Hunger Games is Miss… Dae Coop!" he roars out.

I can see my name up on the screen for everyone to look at. That is my name spelled out in the tiny black font. Dae Coop… I have just been selected for the Hunger Games.


End file.
